He Has Returned
by Cecilia Knight
Summary: Based on the Mary Russell Series by Laurie King. Someone from Holmes' past has returned. Will one fatal mistake from his past cost him and Russell their lives?
1. Default Chapter

He Has Returned  
  
  
Chapter One  
  
My vision began to blur as I stared at the thick book lying flat on my desk. However, I ignored the fuzzy letters and tried to continue reading my book on the subject of women in the Bible. My husband, the infamous detective Sherlock Holmes, interrupted my thoughts and piled the days correspondence on the desk. He then took the envelopes that contained materials of little importance and chucked them into the waste paper basket next to me. I marked my place in the large book and looked through the mail to see if there was anything addressed to Mary Russell or Mary Holmes. Even though Holmes and I have been married for two years, I was still addressed by my maiden name. Not that I minded. Holmes and I have always called eachother by our last names since that day we met on the hillside, watching bees. I was fifteen then, and he was fifty-four. That was eight years ago.  
"At your books again, I see." Holmes commented reaching for the daily newspaper. "If you want to kep your mind sharp, you should read about something other that religion or theology."  
I did not satisfy him with a reply. Instead, I removed my spectacles and rubbed the heels of my palms into my eye sockets. When my husband did not recieve the witty remark he was expeting, he sat on his big red chair and began to read the first section of the paper. "Tired, Russell? He asked. "You're suffering from insomnia."  
"What makes you say that?"  
Holmes reached for his pipe, and began to prepare it for smoking. "Well, You are tossing and turning at night, and by the dark circles under your eyes, I say that you haven't gotten more than six hours of slep in five nights."  
"This coming from a man who keeps irregular hours and scarcely eats enough to keep a cat alive?" I returned my spectacles to their proper place on my nose.  
He simply smiled. "You're bored, Russell. I can tell."  
"Correct as usual, Holmes." I said with mild sarcasm. "I need something to challenge me, and there is very little here in Sussex to give me the mental stimulation that I need!"  
"Are you saying that I am not mentally stimulating enough for you?" He joked.  
"Please don't joke. I'm serious. Why do we have to live in such a dull town?"  
Holmes shook his head. "Complaining is not like this is not like you. There is nothing for us to concern ourselves here with at the moment my little adventure seeker. I hope you do not expect me to come out of retirement and start accepting cases again."  
I sighed. He was right. When I get bored, I cannot sleep at night, and then I begin to get a little crabby. Then again, little is an understatement. I flipped to the place where IHad paused in my reading and continued on with the next chapter, Esther. I could smell the tobacco from Holmes' pipe, and hear the rustling every time he turned the page of the newspaper. I usually relax and enjoy the moments of peace and quite, however, lack of sleep can make a person easily annoyed at every little disturbance. I opened my mouth to give my significant other a tongue lashing, when he spoke even before I could get the first word out of my mouth.  
"Why don't we go to dinner tonight at the Garden and see a concert afterwards?" He asked, turning another page. "That way, you won't be so bored. Besides, we haven't had a nice dinner out for quite some time."  
Even though the night he had planned out in his mind sounded simple, to me it sounded like we were going to be the happiest two people on the face of the earth. God knows that I haven't been out for a noght on the town for a long while. It was just what I needed. "Holmes," I said, "That is perfect."  
  
II  
The night Holmes and I had was exquisite.The dinner was lovely and the concert we went to see was fabulous. I had no trouble going to sleep that night, and I willingly surrendered myself to the images that raced through my mind as if a story were being played right before my eyes. I was at the climax of my dream, when the movement of the figure next to me jolted me to reality. I opened my eyes to see a bleary figure of Holmes gazing out the window, his keen eyes searching for something. "What is it? I asked sitting up and reaching for my spectacles.  
"Did you hear something?"He asked not taking his eyes from the dark view of the Downs.  
I listened intently, hoping that whatever he heard would again make noise. After a moment went by with nothing but the sound of chirping chrickets touching my ear, I opened my mouth to say no, when suddenly, I heard the noise that Holmes must have been talking about. It was a low, deep moan, as if someone was in pain, then a terrifying clatter of an oblect crashing to the floor made its way up the stairs. Holmes turned his attention from the window. "My God!" I cried jumping from the bed. "Someone's in the house!  
Instantly, Holmes bolted out of the room and down the stairs with me close behind. We ran into the living room to see a dark figure sprawled on the floor. I lit an oil lamp and shead light on the terrible scene. It was a man. A man who had been stabbed in the middle of his back. He had collapsed on top of a small writting stand. Pens were scattered on the floor, and the ink from the fountain began to spread onto the carpet.  
Holmes recovered from the shock quicker than I did and bent down to inspect the corpse lying in the middle of the floor. He removed a small scrap ofpaper from the victim's hand and unfolded it. After he looked at its contents, he handed it to me and continued to inspect the scene.  
I opened the wrinkled square and was puzzled at what it said. The black squiggly letters were written with a very bad hand, and they read:  
I'm Back! 


	2. He is Known

Chapter 2  
  
  
I soon gathered my wits and knelt beside Holmes who was keenly observing the scene. "What do you gather from this, Russell?" He asked not taking his eyes from the body.  
My eyes scanned the corpse lying in from of me, and I responded. "Mid-twenties. Not very well to do, by the frays on his cuffs. By the colour of his skin, I'd say he is a foreigner. Perhaps Italian."  
"This gentleman is from Venice." Holmes announced. "The cigar smoke clings to the clothing, giving off an odour that matches the smell of a cigar that can only be found in Venice. It is a very good cigar, but very cheep. It is usually smoked by those who are involved in organized crime. The soles of his shoes are worn down, so I would say that he engages in a lot of walking. He may be the messenger, a pawn in some master criminals game."  
"Holmes, I think that we should call the police."  
"Call Scotland Yard, instead. This is not a matter for the local police." He told me rising to his feet and looking around to see if any more clues would catch his eye. "While you do that, I am going to have a look outside."  
**********  
  
"I trust that you have inspected the scene with the utmost perception, Holmes." Inspector Lestrade said as he placed his note pad in his inside coat pocket. "What do you think?"  
The infamous detective sat in his favourite red chair, smoking his pipe and thinking deeply. He puffed on the well used pipe for another moment before answering. "I think that this man was involved with the shipment of drugs. Possibly heroine."  
I shuddered at the mention of that ghastly drug. Ever since I was kidnapped and injected against my will with that horrible narcotic by Him, ( A man that I simply referred to as Him or He) I couldn't stand the sight or even the thought of needles.  
"Then why would he be lying there dead in your living room?" Lestrade inquired.  
"Simply to send a message. This man was a pawn in a complex drug game. He came here because he was told to." Holmes answered. "Now if you do not mind my dear inspector, could you possibly finish up with your investigation. Russell and I have a long day a head of us, as we are traveling to Bath for a few days."  
I kept my mouth shut. Holmes and I had no plans to go to Bath, or anywhere else for that matter. He was up to something, but I didn't quite know what he was concocting in that ingenious mind of his. Part of me didn't want to know. For all that I knew we would be traveling, trying to side step bombs along the way to an unknown destination where I would not be able to bathe for weeks.   
After Lestrade and the other investigators left did I ask Holmes what was on his mind. "Do you have any theories?"  
He shook his head, and emptied his pipe only to refill it again with fresh tobacco. "No. I am still pondering. However, I do know that the killer is very good. Intelligent."  
"Why do you say that?"  
Holmes pulled something from his pocket and handed it to me. It was another note, scribbled in the same horrible hand. It read:  
Holmes-  
You're mostly likely smoking that ridiculous  
pipe of yours, trying to think who I am.  
I'll let you in on a little secret. I'm from your past.  
Someone from Holmes' past? That could be anyone. This great detective has worked on hundreds of cases, and there are many criminals out there who have my beloved husband on their people to kill list. "Holmes, this could be anyone."  
"This anyone is a man. He also wrote that note, and the note with our little Italian John Doe friend with his opposite hand, trying to disguise his handwriting no doubt. The knife pierced the lungs. Only a professional kills a man by piercing the lungs with a knife. This man was also right handed. He covered up his tracks very well too."  
"How did he get into the house?"  
"He used a professional set of pick locks. Almost like the ones that I have. The murderer must have picked it."  
A moment of silence passed. Both of us were deep in thought, and Holmes puffed thoughtfully at his pipe. I sighed.   
"Why don't you get some sleep, Russell, my dear. I have too much thinking to do. I will wake you if I think of something."  
**********  
I awoke about an hour later with Holmes' hand on my shoulder, almost violently shaking me back to reality. "Russell. Russell. Get up and get ready to go NOW!"  
"What is it?" I asked reaching for my spectacles.   
"No time for explaining." He said as he grabbed a suitcase and packed a few necessities. Both mine and his in the same case.  
"Holmes, what is it! Tell me! What is wrong!"  
He muttered something almost incomprehensible. It sounded like he was saying, "By God I hope that I am wrong. I pray that I am wrong."  
However the chances of Holmes being wrong are very slim. I began to panic, and my heart started to race as I observed the state that my normally well composed husband was in. I asked again, "Holmes, WHAT IS IT!"  
He stopped shoving clothes on the small suit case, and gazed at me. For the first time, I saw a hint of fear in his dull eyes. "It's him."  
"Who is him?"  
There was a slight pause that seemed to have lasted to a full agonizing minute.  
Finally he spoke. "Moriarity"  
**********  
  
  
  
Tell me what you think, or if there is any way to improve the story. Also if you have any ideas, I will be happy to take them into stride. -Cecilia  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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